


A Snowball's Second Chance

by Jouissance (restrained_ubiquity)



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: AU, Christmas, Cursed Hyperion Heights, F/M, OQ Advent 2018, Robert and Roni, Season 7 AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-29
Updated: 2018-12-28
Packaged: 2019-09-29 14:41:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 16,971
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17205290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/restrained_ubiquity/pseuds/Jouissance
Summary: Hyperion Heights bartender and matriarch wants nothing more than to spend the holidays alone.  Her favorite patron, Professor Robert Sherwood, has other plans.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Merry Christmas OQ! This is my fic for Advent 2018 and my first ever AU. I was terrified to post, but I hope you enjoy.

A Snowball’s Second Chance  
*.*.*

“You’re in an awfully good mood tonight, Professor,” Roni leans over the shoulder of her favorite customer Robert Sherwood, dangling a bottle of beer over the essay he is currently grading.

“Pumpkin?” he questions, taking the bottle from her hands and inspecting the label. He takes the smallest sip before setting it aside and reaching for his draft Guinness. “Not sure everything is meant to be seasonally flavored, Roni. Apologies, but I won’t be drinking…whatever that is supposed to be,” he pushes the offending bottle even further away as not to contaminate his own ale.”

“Can’t even give this shit away,” she laughs, putting his usual order of her house burger and extra crispy fries down next to his pile of papers. “That is the last time I let Margot have any say in the menu. ‘Appeal to the younger crowd,’ she says. Now I’m stuck with 5 cases of this swill and pumpkin season is almost over.”

He can’t help but laugh at her pout as he invites her to sit with him for the few moments she has to spare. She never sits until she’s invited despite the fact that she’s always welcome to share his fries. Robert wonders if its practiced professional detachment on her part or something more that keeps her guarded against him.

“Back to this good mood of yours, it’s not often I catch you smiling into a stack of papers.”

“It’s an interesting assignment I stole from a fellow teacher. I asked them to write about their favorite fairytale characters. The reasoning on some is quite prophetic. I think I may have finally connected with the generation raised on Disney films.”

She tries to look interested, some of his subjects truly do set her mind running, but she’s hard pressed to get excited about 20 somethings still waiting for their Prince Charming and since she’s only got about six minutes until her next order is up, Roni changes the subject. “How was your swanky Professor party?”

He sets the paper aside; he’d much rather talk to her for five minutes than read about another girl who longs to be a mermaid anyway. “We should have had it here.”

“You should have, but I’m sure Swan Lake was much classier.”

“Class is objective. It was…shiny. And the food was awful,” he takes a giant bite of his burger leaving her to smile at the apparent betterness of her cooking. “I mostly sat with Wes and listened to him prattle on about his newest social experiment.”

“Which one is Wes again?” she’s heard the name, but can’t place his position at the college. She tries her best with all her customers to remember the details (probably a little harder with him).

“Psychology.”

Oh. That one. She scrunches up her nose at his mention of the course of study. She’s spent too much unproductive time on a couch to put much faith in the field. 

“I know,” he concurs with a dismissive wave of his hand and a grin. “I know, but he’s a good guy despite his chosen field. Anyway, Wes is doing a ‘study’,” he adds air quotes which makes her laugh, Gods he’s been spending too much time with the younger generation, “to prove that you only need 20 questions to decide if you want to spend the rest of your life with someone. He has this whole model set up with what questions in what order. He’s convinced he’ll find his soulmate within the month.”

“So speed dating?” she pops another of his fries and glances back at the pick up window to make sure she still has a few minutes.

“That’s exactly what I said! But he went on and on about how not all 20 questions had to be in a 5 minute, rapid-fire session. They could be over days or weeks, but you could only ask 20.”

“So you’d have to be pretty particular about those questions.” She loves this, the easy back and forth between them.

“Exactly, but there’s got to be a range right? There has to be something between ‘What’s your favorite color and ‘Will you marry me?’ There’s a great deal that goes into the making of a person. So he and the mind numbing boredom of a faculty party got me thinking about what I would ask someone if I could only ask them 20 things before walking down the aisle.”

“It’s an interesting theory. How does he plan on proving it?”

“Not sure on that one. He doesn’t have the greatest track record with relationships. I think he’s on his third marriage at the moment, could be his fourth though. There was one a couple summers ago, but I don’t remember if they actually made it to the altar.”

“That’s—“ Ridiculous is what she wants to say. Completely absurd. She’ll give one bad marriage. Two if you were really young and stupid, but four was just--.

“Ridiculous,” he finishes for her and her eyebrow arches as he voices her thoughts.

“Maybe he should spend some time formulating better questions,” Roni laughs, clearing their glasses. “It is interesting though. I suppose you could tell a lot about a person by the way they answer the questions.”

“Which is why I was smiling before you tried to poison me with pumpkin beer. This young woman is convinced she was the Little Mermaid in a past life. So if I were to ask you what fairytale character you would want to be, and you told me Snow White,” she makes a face that he can only attribute to absolute disgust. “Am I to than assume that you sing to birds? Or that you like naps? 

Or that you have a secret dwarf fetish? Everything’s open to interpretation.”

“So what would you say if I told you I’ve always been partial to the villains?”

“I’m not the psychologist, but I would ask you why you see yourself as evil?”

“I don’t. But the villains at least have goals, even if their morally questionable. They don’t sit around waiting to be saved. Plus they dress much better and they usually have magic. I would rather be Maleficent who can turn into a dragon or Sleeping Beauty who lies around looking pretty?”

“Good answer. I’m not surprised that you don’t see yourself as some damsel in distress. You get the job done yourself.” The loud ding from the kitchen punctuates his sentence.

“Speaking of getting the job done,” she sighs, scooting out of the booth, taking his now empty plate and rancid beer with her. “It’s black by the way,” she says over her shoulder as she delivers the last of the food to waiting table and readies herself for the rush of last call. It’s late, later than he intended to stay on a night before he has morning classes. She often has that effect on him; grading papers in a bar where you’re constantly (and wonderfully) distracted by the owner probably isn’t the most responsible thing to do.

“What’s black?” he leans over the bar, coat on, briefcase in hand.

“My favorite color,” she winks at him from behind the bar.

“Good to know,” Robert returns her smile, holding her gaze as she hands off empty glasses to her knew waitress.

There’s just a glint of evil in her eye as she tells him, “You’re down to 18 questions, Professor. Use them wisely.”

He tips his hat to her and heads out the door with a smile on his face. He’ll have to remember to thank Wes in the morning for this little project he’s roped her into. He wishes he’d paid a little more attention to the science behind it, hadn’t wasted a question on something so frivolous, but she’s opened up just a crack, let him see a bit of herself without liquor and loneliness affecting judgment. Eighteen questions. “Game on,” he says to the night air as he makes his way back to his apartment.


	2. Chapter 2

It’s eight days before she sees him again. Not that she’s counting, not that she’s worried; not that she’s pulled his number up on her phone 3 times and scolded herself for being overly involved. He’s just a customer, one of her best and even though he’s more she has no right to butt into his personal life. But she’s counting, and she’s worried. And if she stumbles a bit when he walks through the door in well-fitting blue jeans and hoodie…well, she’s allowed to be relieved. “That’s a new look,” she slides a whiskey over to him as he settles on the stool across from her. “Casual Tuesday?”

“I just dropped Reid back off at his mother’s, thought I’d stop in for a night cap on my way home,” Robert takes the offered glass, flipping through a cocktail menu he has no intention of ordering from. Of course. His son. She’s such an idiot. He’d told her Reid was coming for Thanksgiving, he’d had a full week of father/son bonding planned that certainly hadn’t included bringing his teenager to a bar. His, “You forgot,” and the cheeky grin that follows isn’t a question. He can see it on her face that she’s trying too hard to keep neutral. “Did you think I was spending my evening drinking someone else’s whiskey, Roni?”

“Of course not,” she busies herself wiping down the perfectly clean counter. “You’ve been looking forward to this for weeks. It’s been so busy around here I barely noticed you were gone.”

“But you noticed,” he’s still smiling, those dimples on full display.

“I notice everything that affects my bottom line,” she mumbles, fighting against the smile he always manages to get out of her.

“Can’t you just admit that you missed my smiling face?”

She will do no such thing. “How was your visit with your son?” she asks in lieu of an answer.

“It was nice,” he looks away, always reluctant about bringing up his son around her.

“Robert, do you remember how I yelled at you for thinking you couldn’t talk about your son just because mine has better places to be than in my life?” They’ve had this conversation before. After he’d helped her through her night of drunken confessions and heartache he’s been hesitant to even mention his son’s name, guilty that even though   
Reid isn’t in his life nearly as much as he’d like, he still knows where he sleeps, who his friends are, and gets to be involved in his life. “I will kick you out of this bar if you coddle me,” she sets down the beer he didn’t order, but wanted all the same. “Now, how was your visit?”

“Good. Very good,” he amends when she reaches to take back his drink. “We didn’t get to half of the things I had planned, but lying around eating take-out and watching television was pretty great.”

She softens at that, pictures him as he his now, dressed down, relaxed, arguing about sports teams with his son. “I’m glad you had a good time.”

“I did. How was your holiday?”

“Quiet,” she steps away to serve another customer, but he’s waiting for her to elaborate when she comes back to his corner. “I opened a bottle of wine and made an impressive dent in my Netflix que,” she shrugs.

“You spent it alone?” He’s never given much thought to her life outside of this place. Her son isn’t around, but he assumed she had someone: a cousin, a friend, somewhere to go to eat turkey and be with loved ones.

“Don’t look at me like that. The night before Thanksgiving is always one of my busiest and I enjoyed spending the day in my pajamas. Are you eating?” she asks, redirecting the conversation because she can’t stand the pity in his eyes.

“I suppose I could eat something other than pizza,” he lets it drop for now. She clearly doesn’t want to talk about it and while he may not know her well, he knows better than to expect answers to questions she doesn’t want asked.

“The usual?”

“Surprise me.”

She does just that. A few minutes later there’s a large salad sitting in front of him that he’s sure isn’t on the menu. He eyes her curiously, but she only replaces his empty whiskey with a glass of water. “You’ve ate like shit all week. You need some green.”

“Fair enough,” he laughs taking the fork she holds out to him, his sweatshirt riding up to reveal a hit of black ink on his arm. 

“What’s that?” Roni wraps her hand around his wrist, pushing the sleeve down to reveal the tattoo covering his forearm. A spark of something she can’t explains runs through her as her fingers trail over the lion crest on his arm. It sends a shiver through her. 

“A reminder from my time at University and less than stellar judgment,” he lays his arm flat, pulls the sleeve the rest of the way up to give her a proper view of is misadventurous youth.

“I like it. It suits you,” she lets his arm go, shaking off the feeling that there’s something else to that lion tattoo.

“Do you have any?”

“That’s a question. Are you sure you want to know?”

That sparkle of mischief is back in her eyes. “Most definitely,” he tells her without hesitation.

“Yes, I do,” she turns on a wink, “but nowhere you get to see.”


	3. Chapter 3

The next night they’re back to business as usual. He’s in his standard suit and tie, briefcase opened on the bench next to him. She’s behind the bar training her newest addition, observing. She’s watching him now as she dries glasses. He’s concentrating hard tonight, has barely looked up in over an hour and he’s chewing on that red pen (something she finds utterly disgusting in most people, but somehow adorable in him). He catches her eye when he leans back to stretch the sore muscles between his shoulders and flashes her that million dollar dimpled smile that always makes her blush despite her best efforts. She raises a bottle; a silent question answered by his friendly nod and out-held empty glass. It’s a slow night, Jacinda can handle a few minutes alone. The other woman tells her so herself, handing her two glasses to go with the bottle and shooing her off.

They’ve been dancing around each other for months, more so after she drunkenly poured her heart out along with her best whiskey. He knows her past now: the child that she couldn’t love enough that left her the day he turned 18. How she dug herself out of the gutter and made a life for herself here in the Heights, in this bar. She knows about his son and his ex-wife that he still counts as one of his closest friends. They’re practically dating although they’ve yet to leave the bar. They share a table when her night winds down, dinner if the mood for the best burger in town strikes. They touch more and more. Fingers linger on arms, resting entwined on the table top. They haven’t kissed yet. She wants to, more than she cares to admit and she knows he wants to as well. She’s caught him unabashedly staring at her lips when they’re close (her ass from across the room) with a hunger in his eyes that lets her know exactly what he’s thinking.

Tonight is no different. He watches her every move as she slips into the booth across from him, tucks her hair behind her ears and bites her lower lip until he finally meets her eyes. Not looking the least bit guilty about letting his gaze linger. “Back to work I see,” she flicks at the button on his cuff that hides that tattoo from the world and pours them each a single. She’s working tonight too, more so than usual. Jacinda is doing great, but Roni’s not going to be slacking off when she needs to get her staff trained enough so she can possible take a few hours off here and there.

“You were kind to hire her,” Robert nods towards the woman stacking glasses behind the bar.

“She deserved a chance. Plus for some reason I’m a sucker for Henry’s puppy dog eyes,” Roni shrugs. Henry had become a fixture in this place lately. One she was grateful to have around. He helped with the heavy lifting both literally and figuratively. So when she had mentioned hiring some extra help she didn’t hesitate when he told her he’d had someone in mind.

“He does seem quite taken with her,” Robin points to where Henry sits, watching Jacinda with those aforementioned puppy dog eyes.

“Even you noticed that?” she laughs.

“I notice things,” he assures her. “Besides, it’s fairly obvious. He’s in here almost as much as I am.”

“True. You tip better.”

“I should hope so. I’m employed.”

“He’s…working on it. He’s a good kid.” She doesn’t know why she feels the need to defend Henry, he's’ a grown man, can take care of himself. But she does it all the same. “I let him talk me into decorating for the holidays.” Robert’s eyebrows raise at that. Roni has never changed the décor of her bar. She waves off his surprise. “Puppy dog eyes.   
He gets that corner,” she juts her thumb to the opposite side of the room. It’s a small sitting area: two warn leather couches and a coffee table. It’s cozy. 

“It’ll look nice.”

“We shall see.”

“You don’t like Christmas decorations?”

“It’s not my favorite holiday.”

“What is?” he raises the bottle to her empty glass, setting it back down when her hand covers the top. “Official question,” he adds to see her smile and to reminder that they are still playing this little game.

She sits back, strokes her chin thoughtfully before finally telling him “Halloween.”

She’s lying, he can tell instantly, but he doesn’t push her. “When is this decorating happening?”

“Tomorrow morning. I’ve been told I’m not allowed to come down until it’s time to open.”

“How about you let me buy you breakfast in the morning? That way you’ll be sure not to be in Henry’s way.”

“I feel like you two have been plotting against me,” she looks to Henry who is oblivious to her presence, then back to Robert.

“Nonsense,” he dismisses with a have of his hand. “Pancakes or waffles?”

“Pancakes.”

“Is that a yes?”

“Nana’s Diner?”

“The only place to get a proper breakfast in the Heights,” he agrees. 

“Roni?” Jacinda calls from behind the bar. She’s three customers deep while Roni has been shamelessly flirting.

“Text me in the morning. I’ll meet you there.” She’s up and pouring drinks before Robert even realizes they’re about to have their first date.


	4. Chapter 4

There’s a pile of clothes on her bedroom floor. Roni can’t remember the last time she’s been this nervous and its only 7 o’clock in the morning. Everything she owns is black or ripped. Which is fine for an edgy bar owner, but not for a date. Is this a date? Of course it is. She throws another vintage t-shirt to the floor. They’ve been headed this way; she knew that eventually he would ask her out good and proper, but she enjoys the routine they have going, is even enjoying this little game of 20 questions. Mostly she enjoys the safety of her bar. He’s always been on her turf, her rules, her Louisville Slugger within arm’s reach. Shut up, Roni, she scolds herself, going back into the closet, digging for a sweater she hopes she hasn’t given away in her last cleaning frenzy. You’re not afraid of him your just afraid. Terrified is more like it. And confused as to how this attractive, interesting, educated, funny, attractive (yes, she knows she listed that twice) man wants to take her out on a date; wants to know her on his turf. 

She unearths the deep blue cashmere just as her phones dings. He’s sent her emojis of pancakes, a grandmother and several question marks. She expected something more articulate from a literary professor; maybe he’s as ridiculously nervous as she is. 

Suck it up, cupcake.

She sends back a quick “on my way,” adds a smiley face, and checks herself over one more time. Jeans, boots, loose curls in her hair, the appropriate amount of makeup for a breakfast date, and a sweater that makes her eyes pop. Is it too much? Is it too unlike the her that he knows? Does it make her look like she’s trying to hard? “Oh my god!” she growls out loud to her disaster of a bedroom. Her phone dings again: “Back corner booth. By the jukebox.” He’s already there, she realizes. Was probably already there when he text her the first time. She has half a mind to text him and tell him to forget it, that something urgent came up and she couldn’t possible do this today. But he’d only ask her tomorrow or the next day or the next. And she wants to go. She wants pancakes and coffee and enjoyable conversation with a man who seems genuinely interested in her. So why is she freaking out about a sweater she looks damn good in? “Sorry. Five minutes.” she sends back, grabbing her jacket off the chair by the bed and not looking back.

*.*.*

It’s seven minutes later when she walks through the door. He couldn’t help but watch the seconds tick by on the clock behind the counter. For a minute there, Robert thought he was going to be stood up, but she’s here, sliding across from him and muttering apologies as she shrugs of her coat. “You look stunning,” he says before he means to. Her face flushes instantly. “That’s a great color on you.”

She’s saved by a waiter giving her a menu she doesn’t need. “Apple pancakes,” she tells the boy, handing it right back to him. Robert orders the same and they both lean back with their coffee as they try to navigate these new waters.

“I thought you might have changed your mind. Then I felt bad for dragging you out of bed so early. I forget that not everyone is up with the chickens, so to speak. I should have asked you if you were an early riser or a night owl before I invited you to breakfast.”

“I own a bar,” she reminds him needlessly, but it gets him thinking about what that truly means.

“You probably don’t get to bed until the wee hours of the morning and I’ve robbed you of your beauty sleep,” he looks guilty, like he’s about to give her a thousand apologies and offer to take her back home.

“It was a slow night. And with an extra set of hands, closing goes much faster. Besides, I’ve always been an early riser regardless of when I get to bed. And that counts as a question.” The tension slowly bleeds away and by the time their pancakes come they’re both talking and laughing as they would any night in her bar. He hates that he has to leave after only a couple of hours, but he has to get to campus and he knows she’s anxious to see what Henry’s done to her bar. He buys her breakfast, insisting he owes her that and more for all times she’s undercharged him. He’s right, but it’s her place and she can charge or not charge whatever the hell she wants. “Will I see you tonight?” she asks as he opens the door for her.

“You will.” He kisses her cheek, a quick, chaste thing that has her heart pounding and her eyes going wide as just stares at her and smiles. “I really like that sweater.”  
Roni smiles all the way back to the bar.

*.*.*

“Damnit, Henry! I said A tree! One tree! In the corner!” Roni, yells into the bar as she shimmies out of her jacket and flings the leather across the nearest table. This is not what she agreed to. Christmas had quite literally exploded all around her. There was not one tree tucked in the corner—the one and only thing she had agreed to after an hour of Henry whining and begging that bringing Christmas cheer would help him win over a certain new bartender she had not so subtly been pushing him toward—and another at the opposite end of the room. Garland and lights hung from the rafters, candles flickered on every flat surface, big red bows had been secured to each chair, and was that a train whistle that she just heard? “Henry!” she yells again just as he comes out from her storage room carrying a plastic Rudolph. “No. Absolutely not. What happened in here?   
It looks like Santa’s office party gone wrong.”

“Here me out,” he sets Rudolph safely behind him, blocking him from her practiced death glare. “I got the tree out and I thought I saw some wrapping paper back there so I was going to put some presents under it,” he points to the corner she agreed to and said tree complete with packages, “but then you had all this stuff back there and the more I pulled out, the more I had to put out and then it seemed unbalanced with everything just here so I had to spread it around and, well, I think it looks nice.”

“It looks cheesy,” she’s got her hands in her hair, pulling at the roots as she turns in a circle taking stock of the festivity.

“Do you want me to take it down?” Henry cringes, backing slightly away from her.

“Yes!” Isn’t that what she’s been saying since she walked in? “But seeing as I open in less than an hour, I don’t see that happening.”

“Give it tonight. If people complain I’ll stay all night taking it down, but if they like it—“

“If no one complains you spend all night taking it down the day after Christmas. I mean it. December 26th you are here,” she points at a spot on the floor that he immediately steps to.

“Deal,” he smiles, holding out his hand to her. 

“Ugh!” That was definitely a train whistle, she sees it now chugging its way along the rafters. “No Rudolph. I draw the line at plastic forest creatures.”

“Fair enough. Thank you, Roni,” Henry scoops up the rejected decoration and takes a moment to stare at the world he’s created.

“Go!” she stomps her foot, sending the young man scrambling back to the storage room. Roni picks up her jacket and heads behind her bar. She should change out of this sweater, but she likes the way it feels against her skin and the way ‘stunning’ sounded coming from his lips. She sets up for the evening with a secret smile on her face.


	5. Chapter 5

It’s early, very early, when her phone buzzes in the pocket of her robe. Roni likes her mornings, likes them even more now that she’s been coming down into the bar, turning on the Christmas trees, and having her coffee curled into the corner of the couch, getting lost in the glow and twinkle of the lights. From the moment she unlocks the front door, this place is rarely quiet; music to the ears of a business owner, but she sometimes longs for the calm. She pads across the floor in slipper-clad feet, tops off her coffee than sinks back into the couch before looking at the intrusive text.   
She smiles instantly when she sees it’s from him.

“I have two official questions that will lead to an unofficial question.”

“Two at once? This is getting serious.”

“Did I wake you? 

I was just off to my office hours and I wanted to ask before I began the day.”

“I’m up.” She adds emojis of a coffee cup and a Christmas tree.

“I knew you liked Christmas.”

“What are your questions, Professor.”

“Pineapple on pizza, yes or no.”

“No. And if you say yes you’re going to have to find somewhere else to drink.”

“Absolutely not. It’s a travesty.”

“I’m glad we agree. It would be a shame to have to refuse good business on principal.”

“Next question.”

“Favorite movie?”

“Star Wars”  
“Originals.”

“You, Roni Miller are full of surprises.”

“I like that I can keep you on your toes.”  
“What’s your unofficial follow-up question?”

“Will you join me for pineapple free pizza and a Star Wars marathon this Sunday?”

“I’d love to.”

*.*.*

They’re not going to see a movie tonight. Not that he minds, he’s seen them a hundred times and it’s not like his DVDs are going anywhere. They’d got a later start than he’d intended; she’d postponed twice unable to find someone to cover the bar even for a couple of hours. She really needed more reliable help, but he knew better than to mention it to her tonight. She was rushed when she finally made it to Pinocchio’s Pizzeria--stressed, apologetic, and exhausted. It’s not how he wants the evening to go, but bit by bit she’s relaxing and by the time their pizza arrives he’s got her laughing about Wes’ newest engagement. 

“I think you should answer your own questions,” Roni says before popping a stray pepperoni slice in her mouth. If she catches him staring at her lips she makes no mention of it.

“I’m not allowed to ask you questions anymore?” Robert feigns insult, but he truly is concerned that she’s no longer interested in this ridiculous game he’s concocted for her. Maybe he went too far making jokes at Wes’ expense. It was his stupid experiment that started this. Maybe “engagement” scared her off? Except she doesn’t look scared; she looks…mischievous?

“Not what I said,” she reaches for her beer and Robert feels his whole body relax. “You should answer everything you asked me. I don’t know why I didn’t make this condition before, but from now on whatever you ask has to have an answer from you. So Robert Sherwood, what’s your favorite color?”

His face lights up, dimples on full display when he tells her “Green. Deep pine green. But sometimes particular shades of red,” he’s staring at her lips again that today are painted a deep ruby.

He likes red, she’ll keep that in mind. “Boxers or briefs” she asks and laughs out loud when he chokes on his beer.

“I don’t recall asking you that question, Milady,” he stammers out, sopping up beer from his sweater.

She shrugs her shoulders, “I already know your favorite holiday, you’re favorite fairytale character, and your drink of choice. It seemed like the next logical question,” she tries to hide her amusement at the blush rising from his chest to the tips of his ears, wants to play this cool but can’t hold in her own laughter.

“Boxers,” he tells her quietly, quickly shoving half a piece of pizza in his mouth. She knew that too, had seen then peeking out of his jeans on more than one occasion. Calvin Kleins. But she’ll save that bit of information for later. “However, I don’t recall ever telling you my favorite fairytale. It’s not Prince Charming, just so we’re clear.”

“Robin Hood,” she smiles as Robert stares at her like she’s just unlocked the secrets of the universe. “It’s my job to read people,” she assures him, “I’m not stalking you; I’m just observant.”

“It would seem,” he raises his beer and they toast over their mostly eaten pizza. “What do you do when you’re not observing? What’s your favorite vacation destination?” He realizes he’s quickly cycling through his allotted questions (if she’s even still counting) but it’s so rare that he gets her all to himself and we wants to know everything about Roni Miller.

“I don’t take vacations.” The owner, Mario, clears their pizza and replaces it with cannoli they didn’t order and a wink. Roni nods her thanks, make a mental note to repay the man in kind next time he visits her bar.

“You don’t ever take a day off?” He knows the answer to that as soon as he asks it; saw how hard it was for her just to get a few hours to meet him here.

“I’m the boss of a moderately successful business in a crumbling town, days off are a luxury I can’t afford,” she tells him matter-of-factly. There’s no resentment; she’s proud of what she’s built and the work she puts into every day. Besides, there hasn’t been anyone in a long time that she would want to take a vacation with. Her work is her life and she’s grateful for it, but she can tell her answer makes him uneasy. “I used to camp when I was younger. With friends, a few times with my son when he was young. We’d sleep in a tent, swim in the lake. It was fun, but I don’t know if I’d call it a vacation. Is it ever a proper vacation when you have to parent?” It surprises her how easily she can talk to him about her son. Most people don’t even know of his existence. “Your turn.”

“Aruba,” he tells her with a guilt in his voice that has her kicking him under the table and giving him the look that dares him to pity her. So he continues with “palm trees, white sands, water clear as glass. It’s not a vacation unless there are island breezes and a sunburn.”

“I should try that someday,” she runs her finger along the rim of her glass. “Drinks with those little ridiculous umbrellas in them, the sound of the ocean,” she closes her eyes, trying to hear the crashing waves instead of the bustle of the pizza joint.

“I’d love to introduce to you island life someday.” It's out before he realizes he’s invited her to an island getaway on what is technically their second date. She’s smiling though, nodding to him and reaching for his hand, winding their fingers together.

“I’d like that. Anything to get out of this rain for a few days. Why do we live here? I could own a bar in Aruba. Why did I choose Seattle?” 

“You don’t like our dreary winters?”

“Not particularly. I like the fall: when the colors change, when it’s still warm enough to walk at night. I could do without this,” she pulls on a curl that refuses to go with the others.

Robert reaches across the table, pulls it from her fingers and tucks it back behind her ear. “I think it’s beautiful.” He’s wanted to do that for weeks, longer. He’s had frightfully vivid dreams about his fingers threading through her locks, smooth as silk, slipping between his fingers. It’s like a memory he can’t place, something just below the surface but when he reaches for it sinks further from his reach.

“Thank you. And thank you for a wonderful, wonderful evening. I’m sorry I was so late.”

“You’re always worth the wait.” She doesn’t know what to say to that so she stays silent, biting her bottom lip to keep from smiling like a fool at his flirting.  
“We should get going.” The restaurants getting ready to close, they’ve been getting sideways glances from the waiter for the last 20 minutes. Roni’s given those looks enough herself to know that the latest one was more than a suggestion. 

“May I walk you home?” Robert asks, helping her into her coat.

“That’s not necessary.”

“And if I want to anyway?”

“It’s in the opposite direction,” she laughs, brushing off his chivalry. She doesn’t know exactly where he lives, but she knows it’s near the campus, which is not on the way to her apartment above the bar.

“What if I just want to spend a few more minutes with you?” he links his arm with hers as he turns them in the direction of her place. How could she be expected to argue with that?

They don’t talk much on the walk back. He makes a comment about the dreariness of the weather, she jokes about her sincerity for moving Roni’s to Aruba. They hold hands. The warmth of her palm against his is a welcome contrast to the cool night air. When they arrive at her door, she wishes this town were bigger. Drizzle or not, she’s reluctant to say goodnight. She could invite him up. They could have another drink, see where the evening leads, but it’s late. And it’s only their second date and as much as she wants to be, she’s not that kind of girl.

“I’d like to kiss you goodnight.” His voice startles her. She’d been a bit caught up in her thoughts and forgot that they were standing in the alley, outside her door. “Or not?” he laughs as he combs his fingers through her hair, leans in slowly eyes flitting between hers and her lips. He stills with barely an inch between them, his breath warm against her skin.

Roni tilts her head up, pressing her lips against his. They’re softer than she expected, warm despite the chill of the night. He’s gentle; just a light pressure against her, the slightest pull when his lips release. And that won’t do, she’s not ready to let go yet. Her hand slides up his arm, wraps around his neck and pulls him back to her. It’s been too long since she’s been kissed. She’s going to enjoy this.

The wind shifts suddenly, whipping around the corner at just the right angle to send a spray of rain into their faces. They pull apart, both wiping at the cold water. “Well,” Robert laughs, using the end of his scarf to dry his cheek, “I’ll take that as my cue to bid you goodnight.”

“Goodnight,” she cups his face, traces her thumb along his lips and goes in for one more quick kiss before forcing herself through the door.  
She’s not 3 steps up when her phone goes off again. 

"What’s your favorite flower?"   
Followed by every floral emoji he could find.

"Official question?" she types back, digging for her keys.

"Officially official."

"White roses."   
"Although I don’t understand how that determines the successfulness of a relationship like important questions such as pizza toppings do." 

Texting is easier. She’s not as comfortable face to face as he is, can’t quite get past her insecurities when he’s staring at her with those damn blue eyes. She can flirt with him when it’s just words on a screen, blush without trying to hide it or play it off as one drink too many. 

Roni flops on her couch, watches her phone intently; too intently for a grown woman. She rolls her eyes at herself, tosses the phone to the other end of the couch, but all but pounces on it when it dings seconds later.

"Maybe I just want to buy you flowers."


	6. Chapter 6

She hasn’t seen him in a couple nights, she told him on Monday she had large groups booked the next 3 nights and that the atmosphere probably wouldn’t be that conducive to grading papers so she wasn’t surprised that he’d stayed away. Disappointed, but not surprised. She resists the urge to skip over to his table the second she spots him coming through the door. He doesn’t look up, doesn’t look for her like he always does. Something’s definitely off. She watches him for 3 minutes, absently making drinks for the order Jacinda just brought her. He’s taken out his papers, uncapped his red pen, but has yet to read a single word. He’s staring at the table, head in his hands as she grabs the good scotch from the top shelf and pours a double. “You got this?” she asks Jacinda once she returns with her empty tray. The younger woman smiles knowingly and sets to serving the customer that just sat in front of Roni. 

“Favorite book?” she asks sliding into the booth and setting the scotch down between his elbows. She’d decided on their last date that he wasn’t the only one that got to ask random questions. There is far too much about Robert Sherwood that she still didn’t know and as the days go on she wants to remedy that. Besides, he looks like he could use distracting tonight. She’s sure his favorite book is something she’s never heard of, probably not even written in English, but it seems like a good place to start. Her presence startles him. The pen in his hands smears across the paper, his fists slams the table top rattling the ice in his glass and what he mutters under his breath she’s pretty sure is something she doesn’t tolerate in this establishment. “Sorry?” Roni asks because she had been sorry for startling him, but wasn’t expecting the anger after the shock.

“No. I’m sorry…I…shit day. That’s not an excuse, but…” he sighs heavily letting the pen fall from his hand and blotch against the paper a little more. It’s ruined anyway, what does it matter now. “I’m sorry.” He lays his palms flat on the table, trying to calm himself before meeting her eyes.

“Vent,” she tells him, leaning against the wall and stretching her legs along the bench. It’s a slow night and Jacinda is doing just fine. She makes a note to add to the woman’s Christmas bonus; she wouldn’t have survived the last few days without her. Robert is still staring at his hands. “Something is obviously bothering you and it’s not The Heat   
From The Towering Inferno,” she slides the paper from under his hand, skimming the first page before putting it back on the table. “Catchy title.”

“It’s nothing,” he lies. “Just a change in some holiday plans that I wasn’t expecting.”

Bullshit. She’s never seen him this tense, this upset. “You can vent to me,” she reaches over, squeezing his arm, “or you can keep asking me ridiculous questions, or you can   
drink my liquor and continue to stare at those papers and think about all those poor undergrads that will have to wait an extra day to get their C’s.” He’s thinking about it, she can see the argument going on in the wrinkles of his forehead. He wants to talk, needs to unload, but he needs another push. “Hey,” she snaps her fingers near his face, jarring him out of the debate in his mind. “I owe you one.” She does. He’d stayed when she was falling apart. He’d listened and soothed and although he’s told her a thousand times that she doesn’t owe him a thing, it’s a debt she’d like to repay.

His sigh is enough to ruffle the pages cluttering the table. He gathers them up, tosses them back in his briefcase before mirroring her position. “My son has decided that he’d rather go on a skiing trip with his mates over holiday break rather than spend it with his father.” His voice wavers as he says the words aloud for the first time. “My son isn’t coming home for Christmas.”

“Little asshole,” is the first thought that pops into Roni’s mind and she’s never been great keeping her opinions to herself. She knows the sting of that rejection all to well. The difference being that she’d earned her burns, hadn’t been the mother she should have been and although it kills her that she hasn’t seen her son in over a decade, she understands it. She’d messed up; not everything deserves to be forgiven. But Robert—Robert is the trophy earning Father of the Year. He doesn’t deserve this.

“That’s exactly what his mother said,” he half smiles into his glass, sighs again. “I wish I could make him, but he’s just turned 18 and aside from that, I don’t want to spend a week with him being miserable because I kept him from doing what he wanted. And I know he wants to hang out with his mates. It’s his senior year; they’ll all scatter soon enough. He’s a good kid, he deserves a bit of a break. It’s just that—“

“It’s Christmas,” she finishes for him, takes his hand as he sets the now empty glass down.

“It’s Christmas,” he agrees. They sit there for a while just looking around at the lights and garland. Roni notices that Jacinda has just ushered the last table out. She’s already cleaned up a bit, counted the till twice. The nod Roni gives her is enough to say ‘thank you’ and that she can head out for the evening.

“What time is it?” Robert asks, suddenly aware of the very empty bar.

“Twelve,” she tells him, not needing to check a clock. Jacinda wouldn’t have locked the door a second before close.

“I’m so sorry, Roni. I had no idea,” he’s shifting himself around in the booth, reaching for his wallet to pay her out for the evening when she stops him.

“Robert, I did not tell you to leave. You asked me what time it was and I answered.” 

“It’s midnight and you’re ready to close, Roni. I need to go.”

“It’s midnight and I am closed and you don’t need to go if you don’t want to.” 

He doesn’t want to. Not yet. “My favorite book is East of Eden,” he leans back against the wall, lets himself relax as his fingers toy with hers.

“I should have known that,” she’s nodding to herself because somehow that just fits. “Thou mayest,” she says to no one in particular as she traces the top of his tattoo that pokes out of his sleeve.

Robert’s eyes just about pop out of his head as she quotes the last lines of his favorite novel. He’d written his doctoral thesis on those words. She couldn’t have known that (That publication is buried somewhere in an archive in England.) Robert listens to words he’s read a thousand times sound even more enticing in Roni’s voice Then she’s asking questions about the book, about why he likes it, about “Timshel!”and Abra and Lee how does he think the Trask family saga would continue? She’s biting her lip, looking almost embarrassed that she’s caught him so off guard. His shit day almost forgotten as they talk and talk until Roni is stifling a yawn and he really does have to leave.   
She’s eased his troubles, but left him another puzzle to work out: He’s just fallen completely in love with her.

*.*.*

“One more question,” he asks of her as she’s unlocking the door to let him out. “What are you doing for Christmas?” She doesn’t answer, but doesn’t need to. He can see it in her eyes. “Spend it with me. You don’t have to answer now, just promise me you’ll think about it. We don’t have to do anything special, maybe just be horribly cliché with a movie marathon and take away Chinese. Unless you have other plans, of course.”

She doesn’t. She spends Christmas the same way she spends most holidays: alone. It doesn’t bother her, not really, she’s used to it. Except that he’ll be alone to. The only difference being that he clearly doesn’t want to be. She should say yes, should but can’t just yet. She can’t tell him how much she loves Christmas, how she still hangs a stocking for her son every year and fills it with his favorite candy just in case he happens through her door. How she longs for the handmaid ornaments and Christmas cards he’d made that she foolishly threw away when he left. “I’ll think about it,” she tells him as he dips down to kiss her goodnight. All she can think as she locks the door behind him is that she has a week to figure out how to tell him no.


	7. Chapter 7

Her morning starts with an apology dripping call from Jacinda. Her daughter is sick and she can’t possibly leave her alone tonight. “Of course not,” Roni assures her easily. She’s tackled a weeknight short before, assures her not to worry over it and take care of her daughter. Then she hears from her cook, another waitress, and her backup bartender is already an hour late. She’ll have their hide because she knows they’re at that party together, will probably stumble in just before last call for a round of shots on their way home. Good help is so hard to find. As it is, she’s called Henry in, tossed him an apron and cut her menu for the evening to things he can’t possibly mess up. She’s taking advantage of him, but when half of the police force lead by Detective Rogers arrives for an impromptu Christmas party she can’t find it in herself to care. She likes Rogers, his partner, not so much, but Weaver has always had her back over the years even if it was always to his benefit. You can hardly refuse to cater to local law enforcement, especially when the station is only a couple blocks away. She’d have been black listed if she didn’t give them her best service with a smile.

She’s barely seen Robert all night, practically threw a drink at him when he came in and hasn’t been back to check on him since. She’s not ignoring him; she just has other customers that she knows won’t be so forgiving if their glasses stay empty or their burgers come out cold. Rogers is the last one out, tipping her generously even though he never drinks more than club soda himself. When she makes her way back to him with an apology on her face and an ache in her back he greets her with an understanding smile and offers her the empty side of the booth. She shouldn’t. She still has one customer at the bar, but it’s getting late and she hasn’t sat down in…what time is it anyway?

“When was the last time you sat down?” he chuckles at her as the groan she lets out once she’s off her feet could be considered pornographic if it were under different circumstances.

“Eleven?” she says into hands that barely hold up her head. That’s when she unlocked the door and ushered Henry inside at least.

“Eleven? Roni it’s half past Twelve!” he slides his beer over to her, bumps her with it until she takes the hint and downs the draft in three deep gulps. “I’ll get you another one,” she looks sheepishly at the empty glass, tries to push herself out of the booth but her body won’t move just yet.

“I’m fine for now,” he insists. “Have you eaten at all today?”

“Few fries,” she absently flips through the papers he’s grading, not seeing anything but black and white blurs. “You’re asking a lot of questions. Should I be keeping track?”

“Questions about your well-being don’t count as official questions,” he informs her. He has no idea if that’s true or not, hadn’t really listened to Wes’ detailed theories once the man starting spouting off about soulmates again, but it seems plausible. Roni is too tired to argue anyway. Normally she would chide him about not taking his professorial duties seriously, or being a bad student; tonight she spins the red pen on the table between thumb and index finger until it stops, then begins again. “Official question,” he announces over dramatically, covering her hand and the pen, causing her to finally look up at him. “What do you like on your burgers?”

“Ketchup and pickles,” her eyes meet his and hold there until he’s getting up from the table to get her a burger at her own bar because she’s just too damn tired to move. She could dive into the blue of those eyes and stay submerged forever. “Last call,” she announces, dragging herself out of the booth with every intention of tossing this guy out the door. He’s been sitting there for the better part of the night, nursing one drink and taking up valuable seating. She’s doesn’t know him, he’s been in a few times in the last week, but not before that. She’d remember that horrible bleach job.

When she finds the energy to look up she finds his stool blessedly empty. He must have left while she was downing Robert’s beer. Changing direction she heads for the door, locking it for the evening, flicking off the open sign, and letting her head rest against the wood and her eyes close. When she opens them it’s to a white headed man holding a gun to her face. “Register. Now,” is all he says. Roni’s not sure how she’s moving, her legs are numb, she’s holding her breath, she can only feel the barrel of the gun pressed between her shoulder blades. She should run, should scream, but she can only move silently behind the bar.

*.*.*

“Looks pretty good. You up for a career change?” Robert samples a french fry off the plate Henry hands him.

“I’m not sure I can keep this up on a nightly basis,” Henry confesses, taking off the apron and tossing it onto the counter. “I honestly don’t know how she does this every day.   
I’m exhausted.”

“So is she,” Robert confirms. “She’s probably asleep out there. It was good of you to help her out tonight.”

“She’s helped me out more than once. Making some burgers and chicken wings is the least I could to. Now get that out before it gets cold and she thinks I’ve been sending out subpar food all evening.”

“Yes, Chef!” Robert salutes as he heads out of the kitchen, leaving Henry to finish the evening clean up.

He fully expects to see Roni asleep in the booth he left her in. She’s absolutely wrecked; he’ll probably have to wake her up to get food into her before she passes out again. He never expected to see the barrel of a gun pressed to her forehead and her shaking hands pulling cash from the till. It’s the guy that had taken up residence at the end of the bar, the one she was going to send home for the evening. Damnit he shouldn’t have left her alone.

“Where did you come from!” the bastard yells at him, pushing the gun harder against Roni’s face.

“The kitchen,” Robert’s voice is steady, surprising himself. His heart is hammering out of his chest, but he somehow manages to appear calm. “Why don’t you take the gun off of her so she can see what she’s grabbing?” he says loud enough that he prays Henry hears from the back. 

“Who else is back there?” Peroxide head backs up a bit, now waving the gun between Roni and Robert.

“No one,” he lies easily and prays this guy’s not smart enough to check for himself. “She’s closing up. I was just getting her something to eat.” He’s still holding the plate. That should sell it if Henry stays put.

“Get back there with her!” Robert legs won’t move. He can’t take his eyes of Roni’s hands, shaking so badly she can’t release the latch on the drawer. “Now!” the gun goes off, shattering bottles behind the bar.

“Okay! Okay,” Robert tosses the plate to the floor, moves next to Roni with his hands in the air. “Look, no one’s trying to stop you here. Just take the money and go.”

“Don’t try to be a hero!” the gun is back in Roni’s face.

“I’m not a hero. I’m just saying that no one needs to get hurt here.” He steps into Roni, pressing his front to her back. Every inch of her is trembling.

“Hurry up!” the gunman screams into Roni’s face, this time pushing the barrel into her cheek.

Robert reaches around her, pulls the entire cash drawer out and tosses it onto the bar. He scoops up the larger bills she keeps underneath and adds them to the pile. “Take the whole bloody thing!” he yells back at this worthless punk, wrapping his arm around Roni’s waist. The second the gun is lowered the cops swarm the place. Robert pulls Roni down to the floor, tucking her between his body and the bar as Henry races over to them.

“Shit!” the younger man kneels down, running his hands through his hair. “Are you guys okay? I text Rogers as soon as I heard you, bad luck robbing a bar that’s only a block from the police station I guess. For him at least.”

Henry risks a peak over the bar. Detective Weaver has the guy on the ground, cuffs him tightly and begins pulling Roni’s cash from his pockets. “This doesn’t belong to you, dearie,” he slams him back to the floor with more force than necessary, but nobody says a word.

“This scum’s wanted for robberies all over the Heights. Nice job, Henry,” Detective Rogers comes around to shake his hand.

“All I did was hide in the kitchen,” Henry confesses, looking down to where Robert and Roni are still on their knees.

“You okay Roni?” Rogers asks although she’s clearly not. Who would be? She hasn’t moved from Robert’s hold, hasn’t said a word since before he came out of the kitchen. 

She’s still shaking. 

“I’m going to stay a while,” Robert tells Henry and Rogers, hoping both men will get the hint that he wants to be alone with her. 

“Right,” Rogers answers first. “She’s got my number in her phone if you need anything. I’m on duty all night, but even if I’m not, you call. Roni?” he kneels down next to Robert, puts a hand on her knee and squeezes until she looks at him. “You call,” he repeats and she finally nods, offers a weak thank you and lets Henry pull her to her feat.  
They’ve already taken him away by the time Roni musters up the courage to look over the bar top. Her money is stacked neatly on a table, the lights still twinkle from the trees and garland. Aside from the open register and her dinner on the floor, it doesn’t look like anything happened. Robert steps away from her, just a few feet to talk to Henry and Rogers then he’s glancing back at her as they all walk to the front door. She’s shaking harder now, can feel the panic in every cell of her body. Her first sob breaks out just as Robert locks the door behind the two, his arms are around her before the second is released. “Thought you—you were—leaving,” she gasps into his chest, gripping the back of his jacket.

“Not a chance,” he kisses the top of her head, lets his fingers weave into her hair and holds her to him as she releases everything she’s been holding in.

“This is my home,” she cries against him, letting him rock her back and forth. “I don’t want to be here, but I don’t have anywhere else to go.”

“Come home with me,” his answer is automatic. He wasn’t planning on leaving her side tonight anyway. “I have an extra room. You’ll have something to eat, a hot shower, and some proper sleep. We’ll sort the rest of this out tomorrow.”

“I...” She has no reason to refuse him so she nods against the hand wiping tears from her cheeks, lets him help her into her coat and guide her out of the back door. 

*.*.*

His place isn’t far. He walks here nearly every night. She’s still sniffling slightly as she stays pressed against his side, whether it’s from the chill in the air or the shock she’s   
obviously in he makes no mention of it, only holds her closer as they turn the corner to his building. “I don’t think there’s much open for take out this time of night, but I can find you something inside,” he tells her gently as he opens the door for her. His place is nice, bigger than she expected, and full of furniture, pictures, and mementos undoubtedly picked up from his travels over the years. She wants to catalog every bit of it, figure out how it all fits into his life, but first she wants to stop shaking.

“I think I’ll take you up on that shower first if you don’t mind.” Roni looks up at him with swollen eyes. She needs something to settle her, to kick out this endless shiver running through her. She needs a moment alone to try to wrap her head around what the hell just happened.

“Of course,” his hand is warm hand on her back as he guides her to the bathroom. He hasn’t stopped touching her since Rogers and Weaver stormed in and he’s hesitant to let her go even now. They’d stared down the same gun, could have both easily been killed tonight and if he stops worrying about her he’s going to have to think about that.

She must read his mind, because she’s turning into him and wrapping her arms around his neck. “We’re okay,” she whispers into his ear, holding tightly as his arms wrap around her middle and he lets out the breath he’s been holding for too long. His forehead drops to her shoulder and for a moment they just hold each other in the hallway.   
Robert steps back after another violent shiver rips through her. Tells her, “towels are in the cabinet. Help yourself to anything,” and leaves to find her something to change into. They probably should have gone upstairs first, packed her a bag, grabbed her toothbrush, but that would have been extra minutes inside when they both just wanted to get out. He returns to the sound of running water, steam already building in the small room. She’s left the door open just a crack and he eases a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt through. She opens it a little more, thanking him, giving him a glimpse of a tattoo on her ribcage. It’s small; a bird perched upon an arrow, not what he expected of her, but also not what he is yet meant to see. He’ll ask her about it someday, when she shows it to him properly. “Take your time,” he says through the crack, pulling the door closed and giving her privacy. 

Roni lets the steam envelop her. Her tears fall anew, but this time in anger not fear. She was so stupid. She’d replayed it in her head over and over on the walk here and came to the same conclusion each time. This was all her fault. She could have gotten them all killed because she was tired and distracted and didn’t check the bathroom. And then she froze. A deer in the headlights, she stood their quite literally shaking in her boots instead of reaching for her phone or for her own gun tucked under the counter. She’s never had to use it, not once in all the years she’s lived in the Heights and when she needed it she froze. Robert had been so calm, so controlled as he took over for her, as he pulled her away from more potential violence. And she’d froze!

She stays under the spray until she can’t coax any more hot water from the pipes, until her skin is red and her fingers pruny. She doesn’t feel better, but she’s at least warmer. She towels off, puts on the clothes he’s left her and can’t help laugh out loud when she spots her brand of curl cream on the shelf above the towels. It must be his sons. That ‘just rolled out of bed’ look he sports in every picture of him she’s seen doesn’t come easily. She only uses a little (it’s not hers after all and it’s not cheap,) but she’ll scare him half to death if she lets her hair dry all on its own.

When she finally emerges she finds him on the couch staring blankly at the television. He’s got a glass in his hand; there’s another on the coffee table presumably for her. “It’s not top shelf, but it’ll settle your nerves,” he tells her as she takes the glass and sinks down into the couch cushions. He settles his arm over her shoulders, “This okay?” he asks pulling her closer when she nods and sinks further into him. She smells like apples and he leaves his nose buried in her curls.

“You probably saved my life tonight,” she says softly after the liquor does its job. “I still can’t believe I just froze like that. If you hadn’t stepped in I…he…” She doesn’t want to think about it anymore, but it seems to be all she can recall. “You weren’t even afraid.”

“Roni I have never been more terrified in my entire life,” his words vibrate against her scalp.

“But you…”

“I was on autopilot. I honestly don’t remember much between walking out of the kitchen and Rogers showing up. I’m sure anything I did was incredibly stupid. I just wanted him to get out.”

“Me too. But I couldn’t do anything about it.”

“I guess it’s a good thing Henry has some sense and a phone glued to his hand.”

“True,” she agrees, but it turns into a yawn. She was dead tired before the action of the evening and now that the adrenaline is gone her body craves sleep.

“Roland’s room is right across from the bathroom. Everything’s clean,” he tells her, kissing the top of her head before sitting forward so that she’s forced to sit up with him.   
“Go. You’re exhausted.”

“Thank you,” she squeezes his knee, looks at him until she feels tears prick at her eyes again.

*.*.*

He doesn’t stay in the living room long after she goes to bed. There’s nothing on television this late at night. Or is it early morning? Either way, he can’t take another infomercial so he heads to bed, but not to sleep. He doubts that will come tonight, or for the next few nights at least. He’s propped up in the middle of the bed, an awful book Wes had suggested he read in his hands when he catches movement out of the corner of his eye.

“What side of the bed do you sleep on?” she asks quietly from the door. She looks small, meek holding a pillow to her chest and staring at him with red-rimmed eyes.

“Is that an official question?” he jokes, but his heart isn’t in it.

She nods, but doesn’t give him the smile she normally would. Robert tosses his book to the nightstand, pats the left side of the bed as he scoots toward the right. Roni crawls in, feeling every bit the intruder she is, but unable to stay away. His sheets are cool, thick and soft as he pulls them up over their bodies.

He moves closer to her, their heads sharing her pillow. His hand wipes fresh tears from her cheeks then disappears into her hair. He doesn’t say anything, just runs his fingers in aimless patterns along her scalp. She moves just a bit closer so that her forehead rests against his. That spark runs through her again. The odd sensation that she’s done this before, that they have been here before and if the shudder she feels from him is any indication, he feels it to. 

“You know, most men would have had my clothes off by now,” she muses with a smile because the moment is to intimate, too much.

“Is that something you want?” he asks in earnest, the hand not in her hair finds hers under the blanket and holds. He has no intention of taking advantage of her vulnerability, but if she tells him she wants the comfort he’s not sure he’ll be able to refuse her.

“No,” she admits reluctantly, “not now anyway. I’m not myself tonight. I want to be myself when I’m with you.”

“I look forward to it.” He pecks at her lips, releases her hand so that he can work is arm under her neck. She turns into his side, her hand resting above his heart, one of his falls to cover hers, his other holding at her ribs just where he’d seen that tattoo. It’s automatic, natural, has his head spinning with feelings he can’t describe until they both finally succumb to sleep.


	8. Chapter 8

He wakes before her and for a while Robert just lays there and watches her sleep. They’ve shifted a bit in the night; she’s no longer on top of him, but still close. Her cheek is pressed into his bicep and her arm is slung over his stomach. He could probably move without waking her, shifts a little to test it out, relaxes again when she doesn’t move an inch. It’s been quite some time since he’s shared a bed with anyone. He’s missed the intimacy of it, the security or knowing there’s someone next to you if you should reach out. She must feel the same. After all she’s the one that crawled into his bed last night. He’s glad she did, glad he can spend these few quiet moments of the morning, mapping her unruly curls, the line of her jaw, her lips.

But it’s getting later by the second, already half past 9, and if he plans on canceling his classes (which he fully intends to do) he needs to get up and make some phone calls. Reluctantly, he lifts her arm then moves quickly off the bed, pulling down his pillow just as she rolls into it. He takes a minute more to move her curls from her face before heading into the living room to start the morning. 

He checks his phone while he makes the coffee. One can’t be expected to compose an email to their boss without being properly caffeinated. There are half a dozen texts from Wes: news links about the robbery, a “Hey! Isn’t that the bar you go to?”, then a “Shit! Man, are you alive?”  
He laughs at the last one, shoots a response of: Yes, I was there when it happened. Yes, I’m still alive. No one was hurt. He leaves out the part about the bar owner being asleep in his bed. He’d never live down the mocking from Wes about FINALLY making his move. Besides, it wasn’t that kind of night. He sends a notice to his boss and his students without giving a reason for his absence. Wes undoubtedly has the rumor mill running already anyway and he hasn’t cancelled a class in years and knows no one will care about a few extra days to get their term papers done. He’d like to convince Roni not to open today, to just take one day to let everything settle, but knows it will be an uphill battle.

Coffee comes with him to the living room where he flops heavily on the couch and turns on the television. The local news is live with Detective Weaver in front of Roni’s, praising her and her employees for their calm, quick thinking and praising himself for the apprehension of the city menace. The broadcasters come on next, replaying clips from the speech, repeating themselves over and over. He doesn’t bother listening, doesn’t care what their version of last night’s events is. It must be a slow news day, he thinks, if they’re making this much out of a thwarted robbery. He clicks through the channels until something on History catches his interest and props his feet up on the coffee table, almost jumping clear off the couch when Roni’s phone starts buzzing beneath them. 

There are already messages on her screen from Henry, Rogers, and Jacinda, but more and more names keep popping up: Nana, Mario, Tiffany, Henry again, and again. Her previews are off, he can’t see them, but he’s sure they all say basically the same thing. The people of her city are checking on her. So much for having no family. Henry’s name pops up again and Robert reaches for the phone. He won’t read anything, not his place, he’ll just send a quick reply letting him know she’s okay so he’ll stop worrying.

“How long has that been going crazy?” Roni comes down the hall, rubbing sleep from her eyes just as he’s about to hit send. 

“The last 15 minutes or so. Weaver was singing your praises on the local news.” He doesn’t miss the eye roll as she gets closer, knows she doesn’t see not getting shot as anything heroic. “And his of course.”

“Of course,” she sits at the other end of the couch and Robert hands over her phone with an offer of coffee which she readily agrees to.

“I was just going to let Henry know you were okay. I didn’t look at anything.”

She smiles at the guilt in his voice. Assures him, “my life isn’t exciting enough to have anything hidden on my phone,” and starts sending out replies to her sundry of messages.

“How did you sleep?” he asks, handing the mug over and sitting back down, just a little closer than he was before.

“Well, thank you. That was actually the best sleep I’ve had in a long time,” she takes a drink and closes her eyes as the flavor hits her. He makes a good cup of coffee. “Thank you.”

“You said that already.”

“Thank you for letting me stay. I think I would have gone crazy alone with my thoughts last night.” Her phone’s still buzzing, but she ignores it.

“I’m glad you came home…here…home with me…” he laughs at himself (as does she,) silently berating his nerves. He just stared down a gun with her, but coffee on his couch has him frazzled. “I’m glad you were here last night too. It was good not to be alone,” he manages to get out, settling himself. 

She simply smiles at him, taking in the apartment she didn’t see much of last night. “You don’t have a tree,” she says, surprised.

“I decided not to put one up this year. Reid wasn’t coming home and I’m hardly ever here. Besides, I frequent this bar and grill that is quite festively decorated this year.”

“Speaking of, I should get going,” she places her now empty mug on the table and scoots to the edge of the couch. “I think I left the place a bit of a mess last night and if Weaver has turned me into a celebrity I probably shouldn’t have fries on the floor.”

“I figured I couldn’t get you to take a day off,” he winks at her, aware he didn’t even try.

“Days off don’t pay the bills or the bills of the people that work for me.” She groans as she stands stretching and popping her until everything feels back in place.  
He hadn’t thought about that at all. How much was on her shoulders? How much did she handle every day alone? “You’re a remarkable woman, Roni Miller.” She rolls her eyes at him for the second time that morning before disappearing into the bathroom to change out of his borrowed clothes. 

*.*.*

Ever the gentleman, he walks her home. “Are you sure you’re alright?” he asks when her key turns in the back door.

“I am,” she assures and finds that she actually believes it. “They got the guy. I got some much needed sleep. I’m good. Besides, my girls that didn’t show up last night felt guilty and they’re coming in early to set up. I should get held at gunpoint more often.” He’s looking at her much too seriously. Too soon for jokes, then. Noted. “Or not?” she asks, playing with the ends of his scarf.

“Or not.” He leans in and kisses her cheek, nothing that lingers. She’s anxious to get to work. Once again, she assures him that she’s fine, but he still stays until she’s in and he hears the lock of the deadbolt. Heading for home, he fishes his phone out and calls Henry. He wants to thank him again for what he did last night, but more importantly he has a question. This morning put a notion in his head that he can’t shake. “Henry,” he says as soon as the line connects, “How about I buy you lunch. Least I can do for saving my life and all. I have a plan I need your help with.”


	9. Chapter 9

“She’s not going to like this,” Henry drums his fingers on the counter of Nana’s diner, clearly conflicted with what Robert has asked him to do. He likes the guy, he likes Roni, he likes that Roni likes Robert and that they’ve formed this mashed up family at the bar, but this is big, and personal, and potentially catastrophic for all of them.

“I truly think she’ll love it, Henry, or I wouldn’t have suggested it. How many people spend the holidays alone? How many people right here in this city that we don’t even know about?” Robert asks, twirling the napkin he’s made notes on.

“She doesn’t like Christmas,” Henry reminds him for the third time that afternoon.

“She loves Christmas. You’ve seen her dancing behind the bar to those carols you’ve got piped in. And has she asked you to take down one single decoration?” Robert argues.

“Rudolph.” Henry knows he’s reaching, his argument isn’t holding up against the professor’s logic.

“Rudolph is creepy,” Robert calmly informs him.

Henry shrugs. Fair point. The statue had seen better days. “I don’t know her story, Robert. Maybe you do, maybe you just know what she wants to tell. Either way, Roni isn’t a person that likes to be pushed into things and this feels very much like pushing. She’s been good to me, much better than I deserved. I don’t want to hurt her.”

“I don’t see how showing her that she has people that care about her over Christmas could possibly hurt her.” They’ve been going back and forth for the last 20 minutes. Robert’s sure this will be amazing; Henry knowing it will blow up in his face.

“Hurt who?” Nana pipes in from behind the counter as she sets down their order.

“Roni,” Henry answers automatically. The matriarch has a way of getting information you didn’t know you weren’t trying to give.

“Who hurt Roni? I talked to her about an hour ago she said she was a little shaken up but no worse for wear. She’s a tough lady. Takes one to know one,” she tells them proudly.

“What are you doing for Christmas Eve, Nana. If I may ask?” Robert gestures toward her, awaiting her response.

“Working. Like I do every other day. Someone has to keep the people around here fed. What are you two planning?” she wags her finger between them, can spot a scheme from a mile away.

“It’s not my plan,” Henry is quick to interject.

“I was hoping to get some of the locals over to Roni’s for Christmas Eve. Have a Hyperion Heights Christmas celebration for the people that may not have family around or just want to start a new tradition. If something like that would happen, would you come?” This is it, Robert thinks. If he gets Nana he gets the everyone.

“She doesn’t know you’re doing this, does she?” she peers over her glasses at the pair of them.

“Nope.” Henry answers again, staring at a stain on the counter.

“Don’t you think you might include her in the planning of events that are going to happen in her home?” she asks.

“Her bar,” Robert clarifies.

“No difference.” She lives upstairs from her business as well, puts every ounce of herself into keeping it going. It’s her home same as the one bedroom upstairs.

“I don’t think she’ll go for it if she knows about it, but I know she’ll enjoy it once it’s happening. She cares deeply about the people around here and I just want her to see that they feel the same for her,” Robert tells her earnestly.

“I still think you should tell her,” Nana pauses, “but I’d come to a party like that. I’d probably even bring the pie,” she sets two plates of apple down and heads back to the kitchen.

Robert just stares at Henry, smiling around the large bite he’s shoved in his mouth. “Fine. Fine, I will help you have surprise Christmas at Roni’s. But for the record, there is a snowball’s chance in hell that you pull this off without her finding out.


	10. Chapter 10

She’s behind the bar in all her glory when he gets in. There’s no sign of what happened last night on her walls or on her face. She’s laughing with her customers, hips swaying to Frank Sinatra crooning White Christmas. She’s switched out her usual black concert T for a bright red tank top. With all the glitz and glitter of the bar she blends right in.   
He’s brought her flowers tonight; a large vase overflowing with white roses and baby’s breath. They’re beautiful and she has to turn away to keep from tearing up over the gesture. “I meant to get them to you sooner. Apologies,” he tells her as he takes a stool and watches her set the vase out of harm’s way. She lingers at them, runs her fingers over a couple blooms and breathes in deep. 

Her eyes are glistening when she turns back to him. “They’re beautiful. Thank you,” she wipes annoyed at the tears slipping out. He takes her hand, a silent question if she’s alright. “Can I blame this on the robbery?” she leans her head back, futiley trying to blink her tears back in. The fragrance of the flowers floats in the air and she’s hit with a memory of a young boy running through the living room, colliding with a table and sending roses crashing to the floor. She can hear the porcelain shatter, smell roses and the day old water in the air, hear the cries of her little boy, but she can’t see him. She breathes in again, reaches further into her mind, but just like they always do, the moment bleeds away and she’s left empty, knowing she’s missing something, but unable to remember where to look for it. “Distract me?” she begs of him, pulling at the end of her tank top. “I think you still have some questions left before we decide if we’re soulmates,” she jokes but her voices till shakes.

Robert’s unsure what just happened to her. He watched every emotion cross her face in a matter of seconds. But if she needs distracting, than distract he shall. “I think you should let me cook for you.” It’s not a question, but it’ll get her talking, get her out of her head for a little while.

“You want a job in my kitchen? Because I should warn you, Henry is already in line for backup sous chef.” She pulls herself together, the banter with him is easy, natural, gets her smiling in seconds.

“Alas, I don’t think my culinary skills could compare to your burgers. I was thinking more of a turkey, some potatoes, gravy, maybe a vegetable or two.”

“That sounds an awful lot like Christmas dinner.”

“Does it?” he asks, feigning innocence. “You are closed that day, right? It would be a good night to let me cook for you.”

He means well. She knows he does. And she should never have let this go on so long when she knew from the moment he asked that she had no intention of spending the holidays with him, with anyone. “I can’t,” she tells him quietly. She won’t let herself look away from the hurt in his eyes no matter how much she wants to run and hide herself away. “I’m sorry. It’s nothing you said, or did, and I really truly appreciate the offer. I just can’t.”

“Tell me why and I’ll let it go,” he holds her hand tighter, holds her gaze until the rest of the world fades away. “Tell me the real reason.”

She doesn’t know. Or she does, but she doesn’t know why. It’s all jumbled up in her brain and she doesn’t know how to explain something to him that she can’t even explain to herself except she knows with more certainty than she knows her own name that “I don’t deserve to be happy.” She pulls her hand from his, harder when he tries to keep hold of her fingers, and hurries upstairs.


	11. Chapter 11

She doesn’t come down the rest of the evening. Jacinda announces last call and the few remaining patrons start to filter out as the people setting up for tomorrow’s festivities filter in. Robert feels worse with every second that ticks by.

“I don’t want to say ‘I told you so,’” Henry takes up the empty stool next to him. “For what it’s worth, I think it was a good idea. I think it would’ve been really good for the community, good for her.” He waits for Robert to say something, anything, but the other man remains silently staring at the flowers he brought. So he continues, “I can get the word out on social media that it’s off, but some people are probably still going to show up. We should put a sign up or some—“

“I’m not cancelling it,” Robert says into his long empty beer glass.

“Uh, Robert, I don’t know if you saw Roni walk out of her bar before close. In tears,” he adds, knowing it hadn’t escaped Robert how upset she was. He can’t believe Robert is   
still going to go through with the party.

“I saw,” he confirms. “I’m not cancelling it. She’ll hate me for it, probably already does, but too many people have planned to be here, they’ve gone out of their way to help make this happen. If she doesn’t want to come down I won’t try to make her, but Roni’s is having Christmas even if Roni doesn’t want it.”

Henry agrees. People are already here well after midnight just to get a jump on setting up. It’s important to everyone even if it’s the last thing Roni wants. “We should tell her.”

“I’ll tell her. I started this. There’s no reason for her to be mad at you.” He slides off the stool and right into Roni.

“Tell her what?” Roni asks? She came down to close up, wasn’t expecting anyone to still be here this late at night. 

*.*.*

He thought it was a good idea: the community that she’s supported for years finally rallying to support her. They’d been willing, eager even. All Robert had done was make a few calls, put up a few posters and the people of Hyperion Heights were ready to gather and celebrate with each other at her bar. It was a good idea and he won’t apologize for it. Except that’s exactly what he’s about to do. “For this,” he pulls an envelope from his coat. It’s heavy, gold with embossed poinsettias, a wax seal on the back. He was going to present it to her in the morning, make a grand gesture of bringing her downstairs with everyone here. He was a fool to think that’s something she might enjoy.

“You’re inviting me to…?” She asks pulling the invitation out, staring open mouthed at the script inside. “What did you do?” she mouths than stares him down, demanding 

“What. Did. You. Do!”

“I messed up,” he tells her, head hung low. Then to Henry, “Give us a minute?”

Henry darts away to help Jacinda in any way he can that will keep him out of the crossfire.

Roni’s seething. Her fists are balled at her sides, the invitation Robert spent hours on a crumpled mess. He thinks she might be capable of burning this place to the ground with a snap of her fingers, but her eyes betray her. There’s hurt under all that anger. Fear. But right now she’s focusing on the rage. “How many people?”

“Just me. It was all my idea and Henry tried to talk me out if it,” he adds, making sure Henry is spared the lashing he’s about to receive.

“I know he did,” she snaps. “He listens to me! What I’m asking is how many people are coming to a party that I’m throwing yet knew nothing about?”

“I’m not sure exactly,” he tells her honestly. Why try to hide anything at this point? “Quite a few. Word spread quickly.”

“And where am I supposed to put them? What am I supposed to feed them? I can’t make people come in and work when I already gave them the day off, Robert. People have plans, they have lives, they—“

“Everything’s taken care of,” he cuts her off. She’s entitled to her anger, but he has his own and before she shuts him down he needs her to listen. “Those people with their plans and their lives wanted to do this; they wanted to do this with you, for you. I’d cancel, but people have already been bringing food. Nana and Mario are in the back now, the university is bringing tables and chairs in the morning. There are too many moving pieces at this point. I’m sorry. You don’t have to be here,” he points at restaurant floor. 

“I know you don’t want to be. I didn’t get it before, I honestly don’t understand it now, but I want to. If you’ll forgive me, there will be a party here tomorrow that you can completely ignore and you can come downstairs on the 26th and every strand of tinsel will be gone and we can pick up where we left off before my colossal blunder.” 

“I told you I don’t do anything for the holidays!” she launches the invitation at his chest, starts pacing around him, cataloging everything that’s going on in her restaurant.

“I know,” he tells her dejectedly. Gods, he really thought she would love this if she gave it half a chance.

“And you decided to take it upon yourself to force them on me? It’s my day off, Robert. One of the very few that I get.”

“I know, but it’s not just another day, Roni. It’s Christmas and you should spend it—“

“Exactly how I want to spend it! I don’t need your help. I don’t need your pity,” she spits the word at him. “I built this. Me. Alone. You think you know me so well? You think asking me about movies and pizza toppings tells you anything about me? One of the first things I told you is that I’m not a damsel in distress. I don’t need a hero. And you show up on a fucking white horse, Robert! I don’t need that. I don’t want it! I like talking to you and I like flirting with you, but I’m not the person that you need me to be. I can’t be the princess that needs woken up so her life can start. I have a life. A damn good one!”

“Is that how you think I see you? Is that honestly what you think?” He has no idea how this escalated so quickly, how she had gone from being mad about a party to him ruining her entire life, but it seems they’re there now and he’s not going go back down.

“How else could you see me? Why would you do all of this if you didn’t think I needed it? You keep pestering me, inserting yourself into my life for whatever reason—“

“Because I’m in love with you!” it bellows out of him. Everyone who had been trying not to listen, now gives them their full attention, but Robert doesn’t care about the audience. He’s stood here and taken his scolding, deserved most of it, but she’s going to listen now. She’s going to hear him. No more beating around the bush. It’s now or never. “I’m in love with you. And you know that. You know that. I know you’re afraid; I know you don’t think you deserve love in your life and that kills me because you are amazing and kind and smart and funny and I don’t know what else to do to make you see that I’m standing right here, that I’ve been right here trying to give you the love that you are so worthy of.” He steps closer to her, takes her hand loosely in his. She doesn’t pull away, but she doesn’t hold back either. “I can’t make you take it. I can’t keep hoping that one day you’ll look at me and realize that you feel the same way I do. So if this really is nothing, if I was wrong and all we are to each other is flirting and a few drunken confessions then I have to go. You’re more than that. We’re more than that. I can’t look at you and not see a future; I can’t touch you and not feel like I’m meant to be at your side for the rest of my life.” She’s staring at him, wide eyed and open mouth, but she doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak. That’s his answer than. “Merry Christmas, Roni,” he says quickly, releasing her hand and stepping around her before his tears fall. Robert has walked out of her bar a hundred times and the distance had never seemed so far. His knees shake with each step, but he keeps moving towards the door. He’s walking out of her life and what’s left of his laid-bare heart shatters when he realizes that she isn’t going to stop him.

*.*.*

It hits her like a slap in the face the moment he lets the door slam. The haze of memory, of Robert’s back as he walks away from her, of his voice yelling Enough!, of stone walls and the smell of unfamiliar forest, or her own voice stuck in her chest, unable to speak his name. It leaves her panting, sweating despite the gooseflesh on her arms. 

She loves him. Of course she does. It’s just been so long since she’s let herself feel love that she’s forgotten the feeling. She’s paralyzed in the middle of the bar, staring numbly at the door he just walked out of.

“This is the part in the story where you run after him.” Henry leans down and whispers into her ear. For all the relationship advice Roni dishes out on a daily basis, she was absolute horrid at taking any herself. He’s watched her dance around Robert for months, push and pull and shove and cling. He thought for sure the professor had finally picked the locks and stolen the heart of the hardened woman. And he had; she has just locked her heart away so deeply that she didn’t know it was missing. “Roni,” he’s right in her face, squeezing at her shoulders when she doesn’t react. “Go get him.”

She’s out in the street before she realizes she made the decision to move. The snow is whipping wildly, sticking to her hair, her lashes, her bare arms. He’s already gone. “Damnit!” she turns toward the building attacking the brick with feet and fists. But, no. NO! She doesn’t do pity, especially for herself so she takes off running in the direction of his place, prays he hasn’t made it inside yet because she doesn’t remember what number he is. (She’ll pound on them all if she has to.) He’s on the bottom step when she makes it around the last turn. She calls his name, but is swallowed up by the wind. 

*.*.*

Robert turns suddenly when something smacks into his arm. What a wonderful way to end a horrible day. He brushes off his sleeve, looking around and seeing no one until he catches sight of a glint of red coming toward him. Roni is calling his name, running the remaining distance between them. She’s freezing, in nothing but her tank top and jeans as the snow continues to whirl around him. He’s shrugging off his coat instantly, wrapping it around her. He may hate her right now, but he’s afraid he’ll always love her. Roni just stands there, pulling his coat around her, staring straight to his soul, but she says nothing. “What do you want, Roni?” he’s past exasperated, she’s made it quite clear where they stand and if she came out in this storm just to drive her point home he has half a mind to take his coat back and leave her freezing in the street. 

“A second chance,” she calls out just as he’s turning away from her once more. “I don’t deserve it. You’ve given me more than one already; you’ve given me so much. It scares the hell out of me. It’s hard to be here. It’s hard to admit that it’s hard to be here, but I feel like this is where I need to be. It’s not just flirting and some shared drinks. It’s more. I feels like it’s been more from the moment we met and I don’t understand it. I don’t understand these feelings I have when I’m with you. It’s like everything that’s been wrong for years makes sense, but that’s not possible.” Her hands are in her hair, pulling at the roots as she tries to and fails to connect dots that won’t align.

“Why?” he wants to know. 

“Because life isn’t a fairytale and this stuff doesn’t happen to people like me,” she growls in frustration at her inability to make this make sense to him.

“What do you want, Roni?” he asks again, stepping closer until their nose to nose.

He’s got his hands in her hair, fingers massaging against her scalp and things start to settle. The honesty starts to come to the surface. “To not be afraid to love you,” she tells him, hand wrapping around his wrist. “The second you walked away something inside me exploded. I don’t what this is, but I know—I know—that I can’t be without it. I love you.”

He leans down, resting is forehead to hers. He waits a beat, two, just holding her to him. “I think we’re okay,” he says low in her ear. She pulls back, looking at him with confusion in her eyes. “No lighting, no explosion; the earth didn’t swallow us up. I don’t think there’s anything for you to be afraid of.”

She burst into laughter, breath huffing out visibly between them before grabbing his sweatshirt and pulling his mouth to hers.

 

It’s electric, sparks fly through them and around them.

It’s warm and soft and everything and not enough.

Its past and future and a love that bound them together.

It’s magic.

 

Time stops when they finally pull apart. The noise from the street is silenced, the snowflakes that flew wildly are frozen in midair. They don’t notice any of it as they stare into each other’s eyes, memories flooding back in crashing waves as they cling to each other against the onslaught.

“Robin,” she finally breathes out, her whole body shaking with more than the cold. “Robin,” she says again, voice stronger, but trembling. It feels so good to say his name, so right. It suddenly becomes clear why everything had felt so wrong. “Robin,” she says once again, because she can, because it’s true. He still has a hand in her hair, one on her waist holding her to him needlessly. “Say something,” she laughs nervously, fingers scratching through his hair.

“Did you throw a snowball at me?” he asks with the most ridiculous grin that has his dimples stretching wide. “Oh Regina,” he says her name like a prayer, has always has held her with reverence. Then he’s kissing her again, lips urgent and needy against hers. They’re both laughing as he pulls away; a giddy relief that can’t be put into words runs through them. Cursed. Again. It seems they are destined to search for each other. He thinks it’s a good thing he’s always enjoyed the chase.

“Henry!” she cries out suddenly, pulling at Robin’s arm. They have to get back to the bar, to Henry, to Granny and Gepetto and Ella and Lucy. Her mind races with everything. They have to call Roland, the Charmings, they need to…

“Mom!” His call stops her in her tracks, has Robin stumbling into her, almost knocking her over, but Henry is there in seconds, arms tight around her. People are coming out of the bar, others going in, the streets are full with those who have woken up on Christmas morning searching out loved ones they’d forgotten were missing. 

*.*.*

Robin gives Regina her time with Henry, takes his own when she finally releases their son. This isn’t over, he knows that. Far from it. There was a curse cast, another villain on the loose, but as she tucks herself into his side, Robin can’t find it in him to care about any of that today. “I have one more question for you,” he tells her, leading her back into the bar and out of the cold. She’s just looking at him, mesmerizing his face and all the love in his eyes. “Will you spend Christmas with me, Regina.”

“I’d love to,” she kisses him again before leading him to the corner couch, settling in next to the tree as the rest of their friends and family make their way inside. “Merry Christmas.”

 

The End.


End file.
